My daddy was a sawyer though the trees didn't know
For daddy did his sawin' with the fiddle and the bow
He played the down home country songs and most of them he wrote
He played the melody by ear 'cause he couldn't read the notes

Sometimes in the evening he would go into his room
He'd write down all his feelings and set them to a tune
And when he played them on the stage they were like a video
He could paint a picture with the fiddle and the bow

Then he played a song he wrote about a girl named Carolyn Walker
And everybody swore she must be real
And he played a song he wrote about hard times and pickin' cotton
So plain that you could see him in them fields

He played a song he wrote about a river down in Georgia
You could close your eyes and see the waters flow
For my daddy was a writer and he played them old one nighters
And he could paint a picture with the fiddle and the bow

His hair was apple blossum white when he turned thirty-three
He said I know it's not the years it's just the miles on me
I recall the night before he died to a crowd in Tupelo
He said there's one thing needin' said before I close the show

You know the song I wrote about the girl named Carolyn Walker
Well, I only dreamed her up she wasn't real
And to tell the truth I have never picked one single sack of cotton
But I have sure thought a lot about cotton fields

And you know the one you liked about the river down in Georgia
That's the one place that I never got to go cause you see
I'm just a writer and I play these old one nighters
I make a livin' paintin' pictures with the fiddle and the bow